Cauterize
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: Most of the time he hates her, wants to kill her. But there are other times when that is the last thing he wants. CatoKatniss, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Hunger Games._

_**Summary: Most of the time he hates her, wants to kill her. But there are other times when that is the last thing he wants. CatoKatniss, oneshot**_

_Another CatoKatniss from me! I just can't help it. I'm really in love with this pairing, and I just can't help but write it! So much inspiration for these two…yeah, anyway! I really hope that y'all enjoy this fic! Thanks for reading!_

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><p><strong>Cauterize<strong>

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><p>Cato is restless.<p>

That would be the most accurate adjective to describe someone like him. Restless, fidgety, easily irked. There is just something about his personality that causes him to be so incredibly unable to be still for even a moment. Clove says that is a part of his personality that she actually likes - it makes him a man of impulse, and his fellow tribute from Two just loves that.

But now his restlessness is just a bother.

He lays down underneath the tree where they have the Girl on Fire trapped. The sky is so blotted out by trees that he can't even see the slight, wavering lines of the arena etched into the night. Cato doesn't linger on that for long, though.

He is completely possessed by the singular idea - or, rather, the singular person for which this is all happening.

_Katniss Everdeen._

He can't think of why he is so enraptured with her. He's not even sure if enraptured is the correct word to describe what he feels for her, if he feels anything at all.

That last comment is ridiculous, because he certainly _does_.

They have her up a tree, helpless. If he was correct, he could see her limping slightly as she ran from them. So she is injured. Should be easy, but it is far from it. She's so slight, so slender and too much of a waif, that she can reach the tiniest of branches, further up in the tree. They are much too heavy to even attempt to reach her without falling back down and risking injury. Lover boy suggested that they wait her out, so that is what they are doing, as much as it pains Cato to admit that the baker's son from District 12 might have had a good idea for once.

Cato also finds it not-so-easy for a variety of other reasons, the most blatant of which is his strange, inexplicable _attraction_ to her.

He doesn't like to admit that he _might _have a thing for her. He doesn't like to admit that she has been the one keeping him up nights, ever since he watched her stand in for her sister at the Reaping.

He figures it all went downhill from there - from her fiery entrance to her scoring an eleven… He can't even imagine a time when she wasn't on his radar.

Which, he admits, is pathetic.

The cold night creeps in on them as they settle in for the night. Lover boy goes off somewhere else to sleep, no doubt. Cato doesn't trust him entirely. Or at all, for that matter. He restrains himself from killing the District 12 tribute, though. He helped them find _her_ so the least he can do is allow him to live until they kill her.

He doesn't know why, but thinking that way unsettles him the way nothing has done before.

Cato tries to find a comfortable position and focuses his gaze upward, through the trees, as if he can make out her small figure clinging to the branches as desperately as she clings to her own life. Glimmer is at his side, her head resting in the crook of his elbow in a most odd position. Normally, he would like to tell her to get lost, but keeping warm is key, and another body next to his is a prime way of doing that.

He also tries not to focus on the fact that he wishes her hair were a darker shade, or the fact that her eyes should be different, gray instead of green.

He hates the fact that she has captivated him as well as the whole of Panem.

Because no one gets to have that pleasure.

He sighs, knowing that statement is false.

The night is silent, apart from the sounds of a few bugs chirping around him. The wind blows around him, rustling his dirty and matted hair around his cheeks. Glimmer's hair itches against his forearm, and he desperately wants to yank it away.

Inhaling deeply, he tries to fall asleep. There is nothing he can think of in this moment that would be enough to help soothe him into sleep. He tries, though, he tries. And each time, he fails.

His eyes wheel upward, focusing on the tree in which his prey - _but oh it sounds so wrong to call her that _- sits. He wonders which branch she is sitting on, whether or not that injury of hers has miraculously taken care of her so he didn't have to do the job.

_Didn't __**have**__ to? _When had Cato started to think that way?

Cato doesn't decide to focus on that.

He just _thinks_.

Thinks of something else - of anything else - but most of the time his thoughts automatically steer toward the District 12 tribute - the one on fire, the one with the cold gaze that matches his own, the one with the dark hair woven down her back. He finds himself thinking that he would be better suited for her. A warrior, not a peacemaker. A man of action, instead of the boy who favors words.

As he stares at the canopy of trees above him, he finds that his eyes have become heavier, his breathing more stable. It is an odd feeling, that of being so peaceful in an arena meant to have death written on every surface.

He stares at the uppermost branches, finding the one that he believes she sits in, and lets his eyes slide shut.

The last thought Cato has before slipping into unconsciousness is one thing. One name. One desperate proclamation.

_Katniss._

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><p><em><strong>End.<strong>_


End file.
